


Moments

by bobs



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Slow Build, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobs/pseuds/bobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We do not remember days, we remember moments. [Cesare Pavese] </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A series of moments over the summer. Or, how Oliver and Felicity will always seek each other out. In some ways it’s as easy as breathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one moment

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have so many questions about what will happen this summer between Oliver and Felicity. 
> 
> Each part will be a one-shot, but will build upon the rest to hopefully get these two adorable fools closer together.
> 
> **A missing moment from the end of 4x23.

Because Oliver is trying to change, to show Felicity that he can let her in, that she is still important, the _most_ important, he makes time to tell her in the chaos after Darhk.

Most of the dust has settled, including everybody deciding to leave town for the summer. Or for good, he’s not quite sure, but it’s almost a reflection of what he and Felicity had done last summer, only the image is a little distorted. He gets it, he understands why Thea needs to leave, why Diggle can’t stay, because the time he, _they_ , had spent away from Star City last year lives deep within his heart, almost like another life. How happy they’d been, the contentment and ease with which they’d sunk into life in the suburbs, into a life together.

So he knows how a change of scenery, a change of pace, can change so much more, can fill the cracks inside that you knew were there but didn’t think would ever completely heal.

But that’s all gone now, for him anyways. He hopes that his friends can find what they’re looking for, can find something to hold on to. His anchor is currently on the other side of the door and while she’s nearby, in reality she’s so far away that it sends a pang through him when he allows himself to think about it. He fucked things up so badly between them that he’ll never forgive himself.

His mind falls back into Ivy Town, into the quiet life they’d settled into so easily. How simple it had been, just the two of them, together. Now they’re further apart than ever. He hadn’t mentioned it to Felicity, but he couldn’t bring himself to sell their house. They still own the home they’d made together. A little bit of both of them strewn around a home too big for two people but filled with the promise of a future. 

Oliver huffs out an annoyed breath because even months later he can still feel that certainty in his chest that, had they stayed in Ivy Town, things might be completely different. They might still be together.

But he knows that isn’t realistic. He couldn’t leave his team, his city, to flounder without him and neither could Felicity. That’s not the person he is, not the person she is either. 

But he can dream.

In any case, they’re here now, in Star City. The only two members of the team left after everything that went down. It’s like some kind of poetic justice that they’d been the two to leave last year and now they’re the only ones who stayed.

God, he’s so thankful for Felicity. That she’s here, although he can’t help but think that she’s going to be the next one to walk away. That one day he’s going to wake up and she’ll be gone. Maybe she’s planning on leaving too, and just hasn’t had the time to let him know.

He wouldn’t blame her. But hopefully, with this one tiny moment, he can show her that he’s here, that he’s staying and he is going to be better.

With a sharp shake of his head he knocks on the door to the loft. His heart races, his palms are slick. It’s not the first time he’s been here, but this time there’s no pressing mission, no lives in danger, and he’s dressed in a charcoal suit instead of green leather.

The door swings open and Felicity quickly masks a look of genuine surprise. “Oliver! Hi.”

“Hey,” he greets her, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You have a minute?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, sure, yeah. Of course. Nothing but time, really,” she adds, a dark tone in her voice.

He lets his eyes run over her face as she steps back to let him in. Dark circles ring her eyes, which look dull even though her voice is attempting to be cheerful. She’s pretending that everything is normal, but he can see from the hunch of her shoulders, the paleness of her normally peachy skin that she’s not okay.

He slips by her and she shuts the door with a gentle click before turning to face him. His favourite blanket is wrapped around her shoulders and she’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, even though it’s the middle of the day, hair bundled in a messy knot on the top of her head. He can sense her building up armour, a wall between them and as much as he desperately wants to talk to her, for her to really _talk_ to him, that’s not why he’s here.

“How are you?” she finally asks.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” he starts. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Okay,” Felicity says warily. “It’s not another madman from your past is it? Or a magical object that can destroy the city? Or-”

“No, no. Nothing bad. I don’t think. Can we sit down?”

She gestures to the couch, which is strange in it’s own way because it holds so many memories of them here, together. Now he has to wait for an invitation to make himself comfortable on furniture he’s been naked on, with her, multiple times.

He wonders if the same thoughts are running through her head. Her cheeks are pink as she settles into one corner of the couch and tucks her feet underneath her.

“So, uh, there’s been a development in the whole mayor thing,” he starts, and Felicity cocks her head to the side, eyes focusing in intently on him.

“A development?” she repeats, brow furrowing. “But Ruvé…”

“Died?” he fills in as her voice trails off. He clears his throat at the memory of the walls caving in and her last words to him. “Yeah. Which means that the city-”

“Has no mayor,” Felicity jumps in. 

He nods, mind racing. Have they always finished each other’s sentences like this, he wonders. It would be heartwarming if he didn’t want to tell her this news without her guessing first. But she’s way smarter than him, so he needs to say it before her brain races there ahead of him.

God, he just needs to spit it out. It’s _Felicity_ , she’s seen him at his best and his worst, and this is nowhere near either. He just wants her honest opinion, wants to show her that it matters, that _she matters_ , to him. Always.

Pressing his lips firmly together, his tongue darts out to wet them. Felicity’s eyes immediately drop to his mouth and her teeth snag her bottom lip, sinking into the delicate flesh. He’s momentarily distracted - is she staring at his lips? Is she thinking about kissing him? - before his own eyes fixate on her mouth. Her lips are unpainted, which is abnormal, but she looks beautiful no matter what. He wants nothing more than to close the distance between them, to settle his lips onto hers, to feel the breathy sigh she makes when his hands trace lightly up her sides…

He mentally shakes his head and reminds himself that that would not be welcome. That they are over, that Felicity gave him back the ring and asked him to stop. Her eyes sharply jerk back to meet his, an unreadable look in hers before her expression evens back out. The charged moment drains away and Oliver launches back into his explanation.

“After I saw you today, I went to City Hall to meet with Thomas Kemp. He’s the chair of City Council and seeing as Star City has no mayor and there was a write in vote that was, uh, actually a little bit overwhelming, he’s asked me if I would accept the position of interim mayor. It’s just temporary, there will be a real election in a few months, but Thomas thinks it will just be a formality.” Oliver huffs out a breath. “Apparently 48% of Star City still believes in me, even after I withdrew from the race.”

Felicity’s face brightens immediately, her eyes lighting up in a way he hasn’t seen in weeks, since before missiles and destruction and attacks on the bunker. “What? Of course- Oh my God, Oliver, of course they believe in you. I told you, you inspired people when you spoke out about Darhk. This city saw the good you could do as mayor, it was only because of Darhk that you pulled out. I mean withdrew,” she quickly adds with a twist of her lips. “This is an amazing opportunity, Oliver.”

He swallows. “So you think I should do it? That I _can_ do it?” he asks, his voice more hesitant than he’d intended.

Her eyebrows scrunch together and her head tilts to the side, the way it does when he’s being stubborn or particularly dense. “You haven't agreed yet?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, his eyes intent on hers, trying to convey that this is about more than accepting this position, that this is about them, about him showing her that he can change. 

Even if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, even if they’re just going to be friends and teammates, something inside of him needs to show her that he can do this, that he can share the important things with her. He needs her to know that he does trusts her. With this, with everything. She is the most important person in his life and if can do something, anything, to make things better between them, he’s going to do it.

“What did John have to say?” she asks, surprising him. There’s a tone in her voice than he can’t quite discern, but he doesn’t like it.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. You’re the only one I wanted to talk to about this.”

It’s straightforward, but honest, and it seems to surprise her. He doesn’t know what to say after that, and apparently neither does she. The silence goes on and he watches her carefully. She seems to be at war with herself, her mouth opening and closing, gaze flicking back and forth, until finally her eyes soften.

“Oliver.” Her voice is soft, softer than it’s been in his direction in a long while. Her mouth opens, just a little bit, and she stares at him as though she’s trying to figure out a difficult puzzle, but there’s a piece that doesn’t quite fit.

“What do you think?” he asks, turning his body slightly to face her. “It’s a big decision, and a lot of responsibility, and-” 

“I can’t believe this is even a question,” she cries. “Of course you should do it. This city needs something, some _one_ , to believe in. Someone who can show them that all is not lost. That they are not stuck in the darkness.”

She stops abruptly and huffs out a laugh. “Darkness. Darhk-ness. Ugh. All the Darhk-related puns. Nearly as bad as the bees.” She shakes her head, then sobers as her eyes return to his. “I know that you thought you gave up the opportunity to do good as Oliver Queen, but clearly a lot of people still believe in you. I still believe in you, too.” Her voice softens at the end and although there’s sadness hiding in her eyes, he can see the truth in her words. “You are ready for this, Oliver.”

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse, little more than a whisper, and her hand reaches to cover his, where it rests on the seat of the couch beside his leg. He swallows. It’s amazing how much this little touch means _so much_ now that it’s all he gets. Her hand is so tiny and doesn’t come close to covering his, but it’s warm and soft and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from that point of connection.

“Thank you for coming here,” she responds, just as softly. “Thank you for talking to me. Even if this is the most obvious decision you could make, I- I appreciate that you included me in it.”

He raises his gaze to meet hers and smiles softly, the way he does just for her. “You’re welcome.”

A loud ringing interrupts the moment and Felicity quickly withdraws her hand as Oliver scrabbles in his pocket to dig out his phone. 

The conversation is short and to the point. “I’ve got to get going,” he says after, reluctantly standing up from the couch. “They need me at City Hall to do the whole swearing in, press conference thing.”

For some reason, the idea of actually becoming the mayor of Star City, even if it is just temporarily for now, is more nerve wracking than many of the other things he’s done in his life.

Felicity stands as well, and even though he’s seen her do it a hundred times now, he’s still amazed. “You’re gonna be great, Oliver,” she says with a nod, the confidence in her tone settling his frayed nerves.

He smiles at her, then turns to head for the door. “I’ll see you later, Felicity.” He doesn’t know when he’ll see her next, but something inside of him desperately hopes that she’s not going anywhere just yet. Then he pauses and turns. She’s closer than he thought, they’re nearly touching, and when he breathes in he gets a lungful of her perfume. “Thank you,” he says once more, his hand settling briefly on her shoulder, before letting go with a gentle squeeze and turning to open the door.

“Knock ‘em dead, Mr. Mayor,” he hears her say softly behind him, and he allows himself one look back over shoulder as he enters the elevator. She leans on the door, eyes on him and a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

He leaves infinitely more confident than he arrived.


	2. Two Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do missions run with just the two of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't been in the writing mood for awhile, but chilly, overcast fall days make the words pour out of me. Hope you enjoy this one - it's one of longer one-shots I've written, and I find writing in-canon ten times harder than AUs. Less than two weeks until Arrow is back!

It’s a normal night. A normal Friday. Or what passes for normal nowadays, anyway. She’s gotten used it it, this new dynamic with just the two of them working together. Or as used to it as she can get, what with the other member of the team being her devastatingly good looking ex-fiancé who she still frustratingly has feelings for. 

The rhythmic thud of Oliver working out from across the bunker sets her at ease, even as she focuses all her nervous energy on tracking down the location of the newest bad guy on their radar. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, eyes tracking back and forth, and she loses herself in the research in front of her. 

And while it seems completely normal on the surface, it’s anything but.

Because there’s a gaping hole where the third member of their team is supposed to be.

Because this is the first time in weeks that she and Oliver have both been in the bunker together for any period of time.

Because there’s this gaping, yawning pit inside of of her that won’t let her forget that she is solely responsible for the deaths of thousands of people.

And because the person she’s currently digging up information on has some kind of connection to Oliver’s past that he immediately clammed up about as soon as she tried to broach the subject.

So yeah. Just business as usual.

An alert flashes across her screen and she scans the text, reading it but not really absorbing what she’s seeing. In fact, she's so unfocused that it takes another couple moments before it really sinks in.

“Oliver.”

The bunker falls into silence, save for the hum of her babies and Oliver’s footfalls, as he makes his way over to the command centre. She feels his presence behind her and it immediately calms her. It shouldn’t, because they are over, no matter how much she misses him. But it does, and there are more important things to focus on right now than her traitorous body’s responses to Oliver Queen. 

“What did you find?” Oliver asks, his voice hard. He moves to the left so he can get a clear view of the main screen. She sees the tense set of his shoulders out of the corner of her eye, even though he can’t possibly understand what’s on the screen. He’s been on edge since word on the dark web gave them a name he instantly recognized. Probably from some terrible event from his past, given the things she’s learned about this guy so far.

Felicity prides herself on knowing Oliver better than pretty much anybody, and the way his his shoulders had tensed, how his eyes had darkened before he’d carefully schooled his expression, had told her more than anything said aloud. Oliver could claim to be ignorant until the cows came home, but he knew this person, knew more than he was willing to share with her. 

And that was fine. For now. They aren’t together and he doesn’t need to share his life with her anymore, and while he isn’t helping her solve this case at all, he’s not a direct hinderance. But she hopes that he’ll eventually open up to her. Not because of the case, or not _just_ because of that, but because she can see the way his emotions are battling inside of him, how it’s eating at him, these memories of his past that he won’t share with her.

It reminds her of Slade, of that time when Oliver insisted on holding everything close to his chest and only filling them in when he deemed it necessary. The way this one person has gotten into his head. 

But they’ve had this argument already, and he’d refused to budge and so she’s let up. Around Oliver anyways. Because what she chooses to research on her own time is completely her own business.

“I’ve got a location,” she says, drumming her fingers against the keyboard to keep her hands busy. “Finally.”

He’s moving away before she’s even finished talking. “Patch it through to me.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” she asks, spinning her chair to face him. He’s halfway to the glass case where his suit lives and her arm raises as if to reach out to him before letting it fall to her lap. “You’re crazy if you think that you’re going out there alone, Oliver.”

He stops but doesn’t turn, eyes staring into a green leather abyss. “Who exactly do you expect me to call for backup?” His voice is even but there’s an underlying tone that she can’t quite read.

Biting her lip, Felicity rises to her feet. She doesn't have an answer, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to back down. “Oliver. If you go out there alone, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her turns to face her, eyes flashing. “Felicity, I’ve done this for years. On my own. I’m the Green Arrow. I don’t need a team.”

“You do, Oliver,” she insists, walking towards him until they’re only a foot apart. “Diggle, Sara, Roy, Thea, even Laurel. They saved your ass more times than I can count and you know it.”

“And look where it got them, Felicity,” he says, voice rising in frustration. He takes a step towards her, hands clenched into fists. They’re nearly toe to toe and she tips her chin so she can glare directly into his scowling face. “Look around. They’re all gone. And I don’t need them. I don’t need anyone.”

His words echo in her head and she bites her lip, letting that tiny pinprick of pain ground her. Something inside of her breaks, just a little, because he doesn’t need her? A tiny voice cries that he’s not talking about her. And even if he is, that it was her doing, but it still hurts. It still sends a pang through her chest that makes her swallow thickly.

As hard as she tries not to outwardly react, Oliver knows her better than she knows herself sometimes. He softens, just slightly. “Felicity,” he sighs. “I will be careful. I’ve got you in my ear. It’s just some simple recon.”

And then he turns and is gone to suit up and she makes her way back to her chair on unsteady legs. Simple recon. Sure, she thinks, lowering herself to her seat. Never mind that nothing is ever simple with him. Not to mention that she has the barest of facts about this whole situation and she’s been able to dig up next to nothing about how it’s connected to Oliver at all.

Well. Besides Russia. 

That’s the only connection she can draw between the missing women from the Glades, the name she’s come across, and Oliver. He’s never opened up about any of his time there, and she knows that he did spend time there at some point in those five years away, because hello - he speaks _Russian_. But the whole thing is just one big blank space that she’s never felt the need to press him about until this whole mess dragged Russia front and centre again.

Nothing good can come of anything connected to Russia, Felicity thinks bitterly. It may have been years since that fateful trip, but her mind is involuntarily drawn to the moment outside of Oliver’s hotel room. The moment she’d foolishly let herself have just the tiniest smidgeon of hope that he might feel something for her. That he might feel the way she felt about him.

But then she’d knocked and he’d answered looking surprised and then nervous and then incredibly uncomfortable when Isabel slunk out of his room with her dress half undone, just rubbing in exactly what they’d been doing together. Ugh, Isabel. Felicity doesn’t want to think ill of the dead, but Isabel had been the actual worst. And the embarrassment, the frustration, the shock of that whole encounter still lives inside her, in a little compartment that she locked away, even though she and Oliver talked about that whole decision during their summer away. But it still comes to mind every time she thinks about Russia.

 Which used to be, you know, _never_. Until a few days ago.

Oliver reenters the room dressed in green and strides over to grab his bow. She watches him, lets her eyes track over his form as he checks the stock of arrows in his quiver. He would look like he was getting ready for any other night on the streets if it wasn’t for the palpable tension running through his body and the jerky movements as he secures the straps on his chest. He doesn’t say anything, although he definitely knows that she’s watching him. The distance stretches between them and she feels it like a physical thing, pushing them further away from each other. 

“Oliver…” She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to ask what she wants to, so his name just trails off into silence.

He pauses, his eyes roaming the room like he’s avoiding looking at her, before his gaze meets hers. She feels it like a brand, his eyes bright behind his mask. Energy crackles between them and Felicity struggles to remember what she wanted to say in the first place. 

And then he’s off before her brain can reboot. He clicks his comm on as he exits the room. His voice soaks into her as she falls back into her chair with a sigh.

“I trust you to keep me safe.” 

***

Felicity’s been vigilantly monitoring Oliver’s progress for the past hour and though she’s been on pins and needles that something is going to go down, it’s been the complete opposite. It’s been mind-numbingly dull, especially since they haven’t quite gotten to the casual-conversation-and-joking-around status of their breakup. The comms have been awkwardly silent save for the occasional status update.

“I’m going to circle around the back of this building and then head back,” Oliver says quietly. “Not expecting any trouble. It’s pretty dead here.”

His voice has a tone of ‘I told you so’ and Felicity sticks her tongue out at her monitors like the mature adult that she is. Just because nothing happened tonight does not mean that Oliver hitting the streets alone all the time is the safest endeavour, she thinks. It doesn’t mean that she’s wrong. He needs a team.

“Sounds good, Green Arrow,” she replies instead, not wanting to start a petty argument when things have otherwise been going smoothly.

With Oliver on his way back, she switches screens and brings up the searches she’s had running the the background for weeks. She knows that it’s weird and obsessive but she _needs_ to know. She needs to see exactly what her actions have done.

A sharp crack startles her out of her thoughts and sends her chair skidding across the floor. Felicity quickly glances at the clock, which tells her she’s spent more time lost in regret than she’d realized. Whoa. Way too much time.

It’s been too long. Something is wrong. Dread churns in her stomach as she mentally calculates how long it’s been since Oliver said he was going to head back. Half an hour? Longer? He should have been back by now.

And that sound… had that been a gunshot?

“Oliver?” She forces herself to keep her voice calm because what if he’s driving and it was just a car backfiring or something? Do cars still backfire nowadays?

Switching screens, she brings up the sat cam and it’s blank. Why is it blank? Why is there no flashing dot labelled Green Arrow? Why is he not answering her?

Apprehension washes over her in a wave, making her hands shake. He’s been out of communication for who knows how long and she hadn’t even noticed, too focused on the reports coming out of Havenrock and her own grief and self-loathing.

She frantically tries the comms again, but her hopes aren’t high if his tracker’s gone offline. “Oliver? _Oliver_!”

There’s no response as Felicity furiously scans the the multiple traffic cameras in the area. It’s a shady area near the docks, but there’s got to be something that works. One camera that will tell her where he is or was or _something_.

Felicity lets out a yell of frustration, before determinedly going back to the computers again. There has to be something. Where was the last place his tracker had been picked up? Can she turn it back on remotely?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

How can there be nothing? The only way there can be nothing is if the tracker was manually disabled. If someone literally ripped it out of his suit and crushed it into smithereens. 

_This is not happening._

This cannot be happening because there is no one here to back him up. He’s out there alone with someone from his past who put a look on his face that she’d never seen before. And he just has just her, sitting here in the bunker with technology that will only get her so far, and right it now it’s getting her nowhere because his tracker is off-line and she can’t hear him through the comms and he isn’t on any of the cameras and the echo of what she swears was a gunshot is still ringing through her head and she can’t seem to focus and-

“Felicity?” His voice is hoarse, but it’s there.

“Oh thank God.” Relief floods through her, before the questions come. “Where are you? Are you okay? What happened? Was that a gunshot? Are you shot?” Her voice breaks on the last word and she presses her lips together to stop the steady barrage of questions that want to flood out of her.

The silence drags on. And on. It’s too long and her heart pounds in her chest. The sound of his voice plays on repeat in her head. Was he captured? Is he hurt? Why won’t the fracking cameras pick him up?

She’s out of her seat before she’s even fully thought it through. Oliver needs her. Well, he needs someone and she is the only person here, so she’s all he’s got.

The last place that she knows he was at was the building at the docks. She doesn’t know if he went anywhere else, but it’s as good a lead as any. It’s a start.

 Grabbing her keys and purse, she makes it halfway up the stairs before a groan from the other end of the comms makes her stop abruptly.

“Oliver.” Her voice is sharp and scared and she presses her fingers to the comm in her ear, as though that will make him talk to her. “Oliver, where are you? You need to tell me where you are so I can come get-”

“No,” he says, and his voice is hoarse and thready and she can tell that he’s hurt. There’s no way she’s leaving him out there on his own, no matter what he tells her.

“Yes,” she shoots back. “Listen, your tracker is offline and I can’t turn it on remotely. I’m working blind here, but there is no way I’m leaving you out there alone. Are you still at the docks?”

There’s no answer, which is answer enough for her. She’s in her car headed towards him before he says anything else.

“Felicity, don’t come. You can’t _be here_.”

She grits her teeth in frustration. She’s had enough of his secrets about this whole situation. “Oliver. This is not up for discussion. I’m already on my way.”

He heaves a breath and she hears him moving, like he’s lurching to his feet. A pained groan follows and she swallows thickly, her fingers clenching the steering wheel until her knuckles are white.

“Corner of 56th and Benson,” he grits out.

“What? But that’s-”

“That’s where I’ll be.” 

“Almost there,” she says after a moment, taking a sharp right to cut across town. He’s nearly three miles from his last location and she doesn’t want to think about what happened to him while she wasn’t paying attention.

God, what kind of partner is she?

She skids to a stop at the intersection he told her and leaps out of the car, not even bothering to turn off the engine. Where is he? Her head on a swivel, she doesn’t see Oliver, doesn’t see anybody at all. The whole area is deserted, and she turns in a circle on the sidewalk beside her car, peering into the inky darkness. 

Belatedly, it occurs to her that this is not a good area of town and that she took off from the bunker without even bothering to grab a weapon. Some kind of backup she is. Reaching back into the car, she pulls out her umbrella. It’s not great, as far as weapons go, but it’s better than nothing.

“Oliver?” she calls softly, both through the comms and out loud. She doesn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention to herself - she’s not an idiot - but she needs some direction if she’s going to find him.

He coughs, and she hears it through the comms. “Over here. Straight ahead about thirty feet, then turn left down the alley.” His breathing is laboured but his voice is clear.

She takes off running in his direction and nearly stumbles over him in her haste. Slouched against the side of a building, he lies with his eyes closed, shadowed so that he’s nearly invisible. Felicity falls to her knees, the concrete a shock against the bare skin of her legs that she ignores as she scans his body for injury. Her hands reach out to him, shaking and pale in the moonlight, and he sits upright and gasps in pain when her fingertips graze his cheek.

“What happened? God, Oliver. Where are you hurt?” Her voice is desperate, even to her own ears. His left hand grasps his right side as he curls protectively over himself. She can’t see anything, but it must be bad enough that he couldn’t make it back on his own. That he would leave himself unprotected in an alley.

He doesn’t respond, just wordlessly reaches his right arm out, and she slides under it, using her shoulder to help him to his feet. His bad knee buckles and she stumbles, because holy frack he’s heavy, before she finds her footing and helps him to put he weight on his good leg. This is closer than she’s been to him in months and some traitorous part of her slides into place with a gentle click, like she’s been incomplete without him this close to her all this time. 

Felicity readjusts her hold on him and he involuntarily lets out another groan that he immediately tries to stifle.

“Let’s get you home,” she murmurs, and she feels him shudder against her. His hand clenches at her shoulder and she wraps her arm more securely around him. 

When her fingers reach his waist they come away sticky. “Is that blood?” Her voice is high and panicky, even to her own ears, and he doesn’t respond, just lumbers unevenly towards her car, forcing her to keep up with him.

They work together to cram him into the front seat of her tiny car, which is at least better than him bleeding out in her backseat. Memories of him coding on the table after that fateful ride accost her as she races around to the driver’s seat and she sincerely hopes that she won’t need to put her steadily improving, yet still paltry, first aid skills to use tonight.

He leans back against the headrest, and she glances over as she pushes the speed limit to get them back as quickly as possibly. His skin is chalky and his eyes are sunken in, as though he’s been out there for longer than just a few hours. 

She swallows thickly, fighting back the panic that is steadily growing inside of her. He’s hurt, but there’s something more at play here. Once she’s made sure that he’s not going to die on her, Oliver is going to fill her in, whether he likes it or not.

***

“Okay,” she finally says, breaking the silence that’s permeated the bunker since they got back. “You need to explain. Now.”

She’s trying to keep her emotions under control, but it’s been a long night and she’s exhausted and on the verge of tears. Her voice comes out sharp and brittle and she folds her freshly scrubbed fingers together so their trembling won’t give her away. Oliver glances up at her from where he sits on the med table and the hard look in his eyes softens as he takes her in. She probably looks like an exhausted mess but she’s past the point of caring now.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, which is not an explanation at all but makes her eyes fill nonetheless, because yes, she’s been terrified since she realized they lost contact with each other and now that the adrenaline has worn off, she can finally acknowledge it. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Felicity blinks furiously because she does not want to cry. Not here, not now. She needs to get a hold on her emotions, needs Oliver to understand exactly why she’s so upset.

“That’s not— no. This isn’t going to work, Oliver. You… We… We need a team. As much as I’d like to think that I can do anything I put my mind to, I can’t do this by myself. I’m not enough.” Her voice cracks because she’s talking about tonight but she may as well be talking about last month, and Havenrock, and her failure to keep thousands of people alive.

“Felicity-”

“No. Oliver, I’m serious. Tonight was scary and you won’t tell me what happened or why and I had to come and find you bleeding in the streets and I can’t _do_ this again.” A traitorous tear escapes and she angrily swipes it away before it can fall. “I can’t sit here while you’re out there taking stupid risks on your own and purposely keeping me in the dark. Before… Before everything else, we were a team. You trusted me to have your back.”

“I do trust you,” he says earnestly, his eyes trained on hers from across the room. He’s being honest. She knows that he trusts her, but whatever tonight was about shows that he doesn’t trust her with everything.

“What happened tonight can’t happen again. Either you’re going to tell me what’s going on or this isn’t going to work. I’m your team. We’re a team. We need to act like a team. Teams tell each other vital information before potentially life-threatening situations, to avoid said situations being life-threatening in the first place.”

Her voice rises in anger before she cuts herself off. It had ended up just being a through and through in his side, but combined with a hit to his already injured knee and a blow to the head that she's still concerned has caused a concussion, the altercation had rendered him unable to get back on his own.

“What happened to your tracker?” she asks bluntly.

“What?” His brows furrow.

“Your tracker,” she repeats. “It’s gone. Ripped out of the seam of your jacket, even though it’s small enough that no one should be able to detect it without some pretty superior technology.”

His eyes drop to the ground and he sits in silence. He’s working through something and she watches the emotions cross his face as he debates with himself. Oliver has never been particularly open about his past, so she knows that it will take a lot for him to open up about this. But if they’re going to continue to work together, if they're going to keep Starling City safe, then he needs to make a decision.

When he starts to speak, his voice is soft. Unsure.

She pushes her chair closer, then lowers herself to sit, hands laced together in her lap to stop herself from reaching out to him. Their knees are only centimetres apart. She can feel the heat of his body radiating into her and she wishes she could climb into his lap, that he could wrap her in a tight embrace, that she could press her ear against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart.

Instead, she lets herself roll just that little bit closer, so that their knees press against each other. It’s infinitesimal, but it’s huge at the same time, and it lets her breathe again.

He raises his eyes to meet hers, and the tortured look in them makes her heart hurt. His expression is more open than it’s been in weeks.

“While I was.. away,” he starts, swallowing thickly, “I spent some time in Russia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts - or if there are any other moments you're curious about between Seasons 4 and 5.


	3. three moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A, the more stoic/serious of the two, treating a severe injury that Person B sustained. Person B notices A’s hands shaking and tries to crack a joke, which only serves to send Person A bursting into tears over nearly losing B.
> 
> or
> 
> What happens when Felicity gets hurt on a mission?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt from: http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/144706311675/person-a-the-more-stoicserious-of-the-two. I felt it fit better in this series of one-shots.
> 
> I'm not quite happy with this, but I wanted to get it posted before NaNo takes over my life for the next month. Would love to hear your thoughts - hope you enjoy!

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Felicity bites her lip as the needle pierces her skin again.

Eight.

Oliver’s head is bent, so she can’t make out his face, but the set of his shoulders tells her that he’s upset. Guilt churns in the pit of her stomach. Or it’s the painkillers. In any case, Oliver had been right. She shouldn’t have been there tonight.

Her mind flashes back to hours ago, earlier that day when she had all but flown into the bunker, excitement leaching out of every pore.

“Oliver!”

He’d popped up from the training mats, a question in his eyes, because obviously she would find him here instead of in his office at City Hall, doing his actual job. 

“I got it. Finally. It only took me a week to crack the encryption, but I did it.”

“Where are they holding them?” he’d asked, all business, striding over to the command centre.

Of course he’d been shirtless, and while they were recently-ish broken up she certainly wasn’t blind, and so there’d _possibly_ been a moment of silence as he approached her station, before she’d jerked herself back to attention and plopped into her chair.

“So I couldn’t hack in because the security they’ve set up is intense. Like military-grade,” she'd said, and Oliver’s expression had darkened. She pulled up a new screen for him to see. “ _But_ I managed to pick up one of the guys you interrogated last week, a Mr. Dalton Reyes, on some deleted security cam footage and facial recognition pulled a match at a warehouse in the Glades. Good thing we let them go. I knew they’d make a mistake eventually.”

Oliver nodded brusquely. “Get me the address. I’ll suit up.”

“Whoa, wait a minute buster,” she’d said, spinning in her chair with her hands in the universal signal for ‘stop’. “Military-grade security. Remember?”

“So? Get me in there, Felicity.”

“I will, Oliver. But I can’t do it from here,” she’d added, teeth catching her bottom lip because she knew what his reaction would be.

“No. Not a chance. You are not coming with me to an illegal weapons warehouse with military-grade security.”

He’d turned and strode away, a picture of finality, and Felicity let him go. He would have to back down eventually because there was no way he’d be able to gain entrance on his own. Brute force wasn’t going to be enough, especially with his current team of one, so he was going to have to suck it up and take her with him. 

When he came back dressed in his suit, she’d been casually leaning against the bunker’s entrance, jacket on and van keys in hand. He’d stopped in his tracks, fixing her with a dark look that she’d returned with a small uptick of her lips.

“Felicity, you’re not coming,” he said crossly, bow in hand. “You’ll have to disable the system from here.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Oliver, how on earth are you expecting to get in there without getting caught? I’m pretty sure you don’t have the expertise to disarm that kind of encryption.” She crossed her arms over her chest, defiantly raising her eyebrows at him. “You need me there. I’ll stay in the van - I just need to be within a hundred meters of the system. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Something always happens,” Oliver had quipped, to which she’d rolled her eyes.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” she’d repeated firmly, stepping closer but maintaining their requisite two feet of personal space. “But if you don’t take me with you, you won’t be able to get into the building. I can pretty much guarantee it, because it’s taken me this long to even figure out where they’re hiding out, let alone how to get past the crazy levels of security and get inside. These guys are scary good, and our window’s going to pass and then this deal will go down and there will be hundreds more weapons out on the streets.”

She knew she was right, but could see the conflict brewing in Oliver’s eyes. He didn’t like when she went out in the field, and in his defence her track record wasn’t stellar, but it was a necessary evil in their line of work sometimes. She couldn’t hide behind her computers forever. Especially now that it was just the two of them.

“You’re staying in the van with the doors locked,” he eventually bit out, his tone bordering on Green Arrow levels of harshness. “No arguments.”

She held up two fingers. “Scout’s honour.”

“Let’s go,” he said, and they’d loaded into the van, where Felicity had set up her tech in the back in preparation for their arrival at the warehouse. Oliver drove the van and parked it on a side street perpendicular to the side of the warehouse. It was a good vantage point and Felicity went about pulling up the programs she would need to access their systems, while Oliver scouted the premises.

What had followed was a mess of epic proportions.

After swearing, _again_ , to Oliver up and down that she would stay locked in the van, he’d finally nodded sharply and took off, keeping her updated on his progress over the comms.

She’d been knee-deep in code and about to disarm the system when a warning had appeared stating that an attempt to deactivate the system without a hardwired connection would result in the entire communications system going into red alert. Great. Wireless deactivation wasn’t permitted.

“Green Arrow, hold up,” she’d immediately said. “I need more time to get their systems down.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it wirelessly,” she told him, filling him in on the bare details as quickly as she could. The clock was ticking. “I’m going to connect to the control pad at the back door we scouted and shut it down from there.”

“Hang on, I’ll double back.”

“No, you need to stay where you are. Once I disarm the system you’re only going to have a small window of time to get in there, get your evidence, and get back out.”

“Felicity-”

“It’s Overwatch,” she interrupted. “And we need this evidence. Without it, the police won’t be able to shut down the entire ring."

“Overwatch,” he gritted out, and she could picture his clenched jaw perfectly. “If you think I’m going to let you wander around this place on your own, you’re crazy.”

“I must be crazy then, because I’m pretty sure you’re not the boss of me, Green Arrow.” 

Oliver’s reciprocating growl made her shiver, which was neither the time nor the place, and instead she set to work gathering up what she needed. She was out of the van before he had a chance to respond.

“On my way to the back door. Do you have a visual?”

“I see you,” he’d responded, anger colouring his tone. “We are going to talk about this later.”

It made her think of a different time, when comment like that would have had a completely different connotation. But then she was at the door, which was thankfully still unattended, and connected her tablet to the keypad.

“Status,” Oliver demanded.

“Alllllllmost,” she said, drawing out the word. “And… there. You’re in. You’ve got fifteen minutes at the most. Meet you in the van.” 

He’d responded affirmatively before his breathing filled her ear, telling her that he was on the move. She had quickly disconnected her equipment and turned to hurry back to the van. 

It was only fifty feet. 

Maybe less.

But halfway there she’d been knocked off her feet by a large body, tablet flying out of her grip, and had skidded painfully across the rough pavement. Hands stinging, she tried to inventory if she was seriously hurt, but before she could really fully form a thought beyond ‘ow’ her attacker flipped her onto her back with a thud that had her head smacking the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Blondie?” 

The voice was rough and unfamiliar, with an accent she vaguely thought might be Russian. But her ears were kind of ringing so she figured they might not be reliable. Heavy hands gripped her shoulders, pressing her into the ground for a moment, and she tried to get a good glimpse of her attacker, but she was quickly yanked unceremoniously to her feet.

The movement caused burning pain to shoot down her shoulder and arm and an unintelligible moan left her lips before she could hold it in. Her comms were still on and she wasn’t going to distract Oliver while he was still inside. There was a chance that the man had been too far away for the comms to pick up his voice when he spoke, but anything that left her mouth was almost definitely loud enough to transmit to Oliver.

Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe the comms had been accidentally turned off when she fell. They needed a win tonight. She could hold this guy off until Oliver was finished. She’d hoped. 

She didn’t have to wait long until she got her answer.

“Fe- Overwatch?” Oliver’s voice sounded more panicked in her ear than she’d heard in a long while, his words rushed. “Overwatch, are you okay?” 

Her heart lurched and she wanted to tell him to stay, to get what he needed, but she couldn’t answer because her assailant had pinned her against the wall with a thick arm across her chest. Gasping for breath, she clawed at him, but he was nearly twice her size and as sturdy as a brick wall. Dark eyes raked across her face and down her body, and she’d struggled harder because there was no way she was going down in a dirty alley just feet away from the van, with Oliver listening in via the comms.

“And what’s this? What were you up to with that? Were you trying to break in?” He kicked at the remains of her tablet, which was dark and cracked and lying on the ground. “I think you’re going to come with me.”

 He’d turned her and yanked her against his body, his arm around her chest again, and with a suggestive thrust against her backside that made her gag, he forced her to move with him. Gasping for breath, she struggled to think. To find a solution. Where was he taking her? Inside? She couldn’t let him take her inside.

Her feet scrabbled for purchase against the ground as her mind raced frantically, trying to think of an exit strategy. But her thoughts seemed to grow more sluggish and she wondered how hard she’d hit her head. Something dripped into her eye. Was it raining?

Oliver’s voice sounded faintly in her ear, and she wanted to tell him something, anything, but couldn’t seem to make her voice work.  
 She’d tried to recall the little self defence that Digg had taught her, what she’d learned from Sara, and dug her heels into the ground, wrenching her body away from her attacker.

“Stop struggling,” the man had growled, his hot breath in her ear making her gag.

She wasn’t going to be able to use strength to escape so she’d used the next best thing — she’d gone completely limp, like a rag doll, and surprised, her assailant had let her go. She crashed painfully to the ground just as Oliver’s voice rang out from nearby.

“Move. Away. From. The girl.”

He sounded deadly, every inch the Green Arrow. 

She had quickly scrambled away from the man and used the wall to push herself to her feet. The sound of an arrow finding purchase in flesh and the subsequent yelp echoed throughout the alley. Her head pounded, her shoulder and arm throbbed, and her leg screamed angrily at her as she leaned against the bricks, gasping for air. 

Once on her feet, she found Oliver engaged in hand to hand with her attacker. It wasn’t much of a fight. Oliver rained blows onto the man, not letting up until she’d shouted at him to stop. 

Oliver wasn’t going to kill him. Not because of her.

Pulling back slightly, he’d stared down at the guy, breathing heavily. Felicity had watched him, one arm wrapped around herself, her own breath coming in jerky pants.

“Are you okay?” he had asked without looking at her, his voice soft, restrained.

She nodded, and the world spun a bit before settling, and then spoke. “Yeah. I just…”

He pushed to his feet before she could continue, and strode over until they were nearly nose to nose. His eyes had burned brightly under his mask. They’d stood there for a handful of moments, until her head throbbed especially painfully and she’d winced.

He broke their gaze to scan her body for injury. They hesitated on her head before stopping on her leg. “We need to get out of here.”

“Did you get what you needed?” They couldn’t leave without the evidence they needed to bring this operation down.

“Yes.”

He didn’t look at her as he wound an arm around her back for support and they’d made their way back to the van. The tightly corded muscles of his back felt stiff under her fingers and the tension flowed off of him in waves. The drive back had been silent and once they’d gotten to the bunker, Oliver had gently, so gently, helped her inside and over to the med area. 

He had touched her sparingly, but like she was made of glass, checking over every inch he could see, and her eyes had teared because she didn’t deserve this. It was her own fault she’d been hurt. She had promised him she would stay in the van and she had insisted on going out on her own so that he could get in and out and she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings when her attacker had taken her out.

Now, nine stitches later for a gash on her leg she hadn’t even realized she’d gotten, Oliver still hasn’t said a word. 

Her chest hurts because she has all these words she wants to say but nothing seems like it will fill the silence.

As he finishes the last stitch, her stomach recoils, and she finally blurts out, “Well, at least it wasn’t ten. Nine is minor, but ten. That would have been really bad.”

He freezes and his eyes drop closed. His chin dips toward his chest, as though he’s mentally steeling himself. She finds her attention dropping to her leg, which she’s studiously been avoiding looking at, because pointy things, and finds his hands shaking where they rest on her skin. His strong capable hands hover just above her thigh and they violently tremble as he struggles to tie off the thread.

“Oliver…” Her voice is soft and soothing, like she’s talking to a wounded animal. She might be the one with visible injuries but he’s hurting in a myriad of other ways.

“Felicity, I-” His voice cracks and he breaks off. His throat works as he swallows thickly and his eyes blink rapidly, staring unseeingly at the wound on her leg. “I just…”

“Let me.” She takes the thread and quickly ties it off, snipping the excess away. Oliver doesn’t move in the meantime.

“How can you joke about this?” he finally says in a hoarse voice. “You almost… You’re _hurt_.” He says it like it’s the worst thing imaginable.

“I’m fine,” she says. He shakes his head minutely in response. “I will be fine,” she amends. 

Words burst out of him like a dam breaking. “You needed nine stitches. _Nine_! He had you by the throat. If he’d taken you inside, I don’t know-”

“He didn’t,” she assures him. “You were there. You stopped him.”

He doesn’t respond and she finds herself continuing to talk. Her head is still pounding, but the two pills she popped when they got back are starting to kick in, leaving her brain-to-mouth filter pretty compromised.

“You were right. Earlier, when you refused to bring me. I shouldn’t have been there. I’m a liability in the field. Digg trained me a bit, and Sara too, but I’m no Black Canary. I couldn’t even run fast enough-”

He lurches upright, his eyes bright with emotion when they meet hers. “I almost lost you, Felicity!” he shouts, his voice breaking. “And I can’t- I can’t lose anybody else. You are the only person that stayed, and I just… I can’t lose you. I _won’t_.”

She reaches out and covers his hands with her own. They’re both filthy, with dirt and with blood, but she finds she doesn’t care when he grips her fingers tightly. There’s still a slight tremble in his hands, and man, the drugs must be hitting her now, because she leans forward until her forehead rests against his and it’s the closest they’ve been in months. Since he told her a little about his time in Russia.

He lets out a shaky breath that she feels caress her cheek and she breaths in the scent of him. They stay frozen for a moment that stretches out, just the two of them in a bubble where nothing can come between them.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft and slip out of her without any forethought. She doesn’t move away and neither does he.

“I don’t know what to do without them,” he says, just as softly. “I feel lost.”

“You’ll find the right path,” she says, closing her eyes because it’s a lot of work keeping them open. “I believe in you, Oliver.”

He pulls back and her chin dips toward her chest because it’s really hard to hold her head up too. His hand cups her cheek and this is familiar, isn’t it? Didn’t this already happen?

His voice is soft, like maybe she’s not even supposed to hear it. “You will always be my girl, Felicity.”

That should make her angry, right? Because they’re broken up and he shouldn’t say things like that to her, but the words are soothing, like a warm blanket on a chilly day, and instead she nuzzles her face against the solid weight of his hand as the world fades to black.

She wakes up on one of the cots in the bunker, and finds Oliver dozing in a chair beside the bed. He’s dressed in normal clothes and she’s wearing the sweats she keeps here for emergencies. With his arms crossed over his chest, he looks closed off even in sleep, but once she pushes herself to a seated position, he’s instantly on alert.

“Did you change my clothes?” she asks blearily, hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, once his posture relaxes and his eyes settle on her. They track over her various injuries with a gaze she feels like a physical touch. “And no. You were pretty out of it, but somehow you managed on your own.”

Thank god. Then she shrugs. “I’ve had worse.” When he fixes her with a look, she adds, “My head hurts, and so does my leg, but I’ll be back to normal in a couple days.”

He nods, then leans forward, uncrossing his arms and bracing them on his legs. “I didn’t tell you the truth, last night.”

“About what?”

“The files. The evidence. I didn’t get it. I heard his voice and I just- I froze. I froze and then you moaned and you were clearly in pain, and I couldn’t think of anything else except getting to you as fast as I could.”

“Oliver…”

“No. We’re a team, Felicity, and teams have each other’s backs. You told me that. It was the right thing to do. I would’ve done the same thing for anyone else.”

“Anyone else would’ve been able to defend themselves.” She can’t help the bitter tone her words are tainted with.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle. “You got away from him. Without me.”

“Yeah well, now, thanks to me, we have the fun job of tracking down all the illegal weapons they distributed last night.”

“We’ll get it done.”

Her gaze raises to eye him curiously. “Since when are you the optimist on this team?”

“Since you’re so down on yourself, someone’s got to do it. I don’t see anyone else stepping up to the job,” he adds, looking around the empty room. “Yes, I said that you shouldn’t have been out there, but I wouldn’t have been able to get into the building without you. It was just dumb luck that that guy wasn’t inside when you left the van. We’ve all been taken by surprise on a mission.”

She nods halfheartedly, not entirely convinced that this whole mess isn’t her fault, but at least hearing what he’s saying. “Now you’re never going to let me go out with you again. On a mission,” she hastily adds.

“Not without more training, at least,” he responds, ignoring her verbal gaffe, thank goodness.

Her eyes widen. “Seriously? I’ve been bugging you _forever_ to train me.”

“Once you’re healed, we’ll start. Make sure you remember the basics that Digg taught you, get into some self-defence. But,” he adds, a stern look on his face that makes her wonder if she dreamed the vulnerability he’d displayed last night, “Getting away is always your top priority.”

Felicity nods. “Got it.”

“Come on,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and extending a hand to help her to her own. “I’ll drive you home.” Putting weight on her leg is painful, but nothing near as bad as attempting to walk after she was shot.

They make their way out of the bunker and to her car in companionable silence. It’s early and the streets are still. Morning mist hovers above the ground while the sun is still low. Oliver’s hand trembles against her back as he helps her into the passenger seat. When they reach her place, he offers her his arm to get out of the car and to the front door. It’s more contact than she’s used to, now, and she sternly instructs herself to act normal. 

“Thank you,” she says when they reach the front door.

He takes a small step back, putting a little bit of space between them. “No problem. Let me know if you need anything or-”

She interrupts him, because he doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. “No. Thank you for coming for me.”

His surprised eyes meet her own and hold, sincerity in his gaze. “I will always come for you, Felicity. Always.”

It feels like he’s saying more, but that’s a bear she’s not ready to poke at yet. They’ve been spending more and more time together, as the only two left on the team. The way he’s opened up to her about Russia and other things he’s held close to his chest for years insist that he’s trying, that he’s attempting to show rather than tell that he can be better, _for her_ , but that’s a step that she’s not ready to take just yet. 

She swallows thickly and nods, before turning to unlock the door. The yawning gap between them is narrowing, one step at a time. Something in her heart settles into place as she lets herself inside, his words echoing in her head.

_Always_.


End file.
